Gasoline Hobo: July 2006

Ow.

I am sore. Bits of me that I didn't even know I had are hurty today. Yes, I said "hurty". Hipsters will be using it in a year or two, mark my words. The irony event horizon is hurtling toward us faster than a single speed bicycle powered by the bottomless energy generated by thrift store purchases and morose journal entries.

I'm sore because I moved all my stuff from my storage unit this weekend. It was an ordeal frought with pain, sadness, and spores. The only good part about it was that it was only about 80 degrees on Sunday, compared to the 113 degrees of last weekend. The bad parts are numerous. I will explain.

First of all, I couldn't get any help. Everyone in my area was either gone or otherwise occupied. So I moved my stuff by myself. I rented a 16 foot truck. I drove to the storage unit. I walked down to the basement, pinched the crap out of my finger on the goddamn lock thingie, and rolled the door up. A weird funk drifted out, redolent of moist things. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I noticed that all of the boxes that were on the floor had lovely water marks halfway up their sides. I tried to move one, but it was stuck to the floor.

It wasn't just the bottoms, either. Several boxes were subject to Death From Above via ceiling drips. Hooray. Opening the boxes revealed several stages of ruin and mold. My signed Ray Bradbury book: soggy, black with spores, ruined. My signed Douglas Adams book: soggy, black with spores AND creepy little bugs, and also ruined. Old journals, entire sheafs of photos irreversibly stuck together, the faces and memories they displayed lost forever.

On the positive side, I hadn't looked at any of that stuff for years. On the negative side, that was mostly due to laziness. Ah well. All told, I wrassled a sofa, a bookcase, several boxes of books, a box of ancient records, a few boxes of computer equipment, two mattresses, a headboard and a footboard, several miscellaneous items of furniture, and a marble slab. It's an ANTIQUE marble slab, which means that it gains weight in direct proportion to antiquity. At least, that's what it felt like.

So now my garage is full, my storage unit is empty, and my past is a little hazier.

Oh, and my ass hurts. I still haven't been able to figure that one out...

Welcome Fluid Puddingites!

We here at Gasoline Hobo know that you have many sources for hobo news, and we thank you for choosing Gasoline Hobo for all of your hobo news needs.

Actually, there's no "we". It's just me. Sometimes I ask Corkscrew Justin Biscuit Thrower to tidy up my prose a little, but usually he just throws a tambourine at my head. You think hobos are cranky? Apprentice hobos are worse than that mouthy Daniel-san kid. But with significantly more stamina. Little known fact: an apprentice hobo could take out the entirety of Cobra Kai, as long as the fighting style was "stink".

Anyway. Today was a total waste of time. I'm not really looking forward to getting dooced, so I'll skip the details, except to say that I normally enjoy my job quite a bit. It's management that I have a problem with. Especially when they require you to take a full day off from work the DAY BEFORE three project deadlines, just so you can attend a seminar on how to be a good manager. Note to my manager: I am not a manager.

At least the cookies were good. The taste of stress and tears? Not so sweet.

Since I'm in the mood for complaining, I'll tell you about the worst job I ever had. I was 19, and I'd been putting off getting a real job for a few months. I saw an ad in the paper for a job selling artwork. "Great!" I thought. Sounds easy, and I like art.

So I drive down in my '83 Chevy Blazer with vinyl seats and no air conditioning. The thing had a clutch as stiff as a 2x4 on viagra. This will be useful information in a moment, I promise.

Turns out that the owner of the business was the ex-lead singer for a christian heavy metal band. A fairly successful one. And no, it wasn't Stryper. The whole thing was a classic pyramid scheme, where the boss "loaned" us some crappy prints of whales and stuff (sometimes we were given Monet prints in cheap gold frames), which we then loaded in our cars. Then we drove to a city and went door to door, trying to sell the stuff. I didn't sell much, probably because I was moist and walked with a limp from the hours I spent sweating and clutching in gridlock.

I only lasted a month before I finally broke down and had to call my pal Space Nakji to rescue me. I got a better job after that. Sometimes my leg still hurts. But I am totally and completely sick of whales. Also, dolphins can suck it. Always jumping out of the water, trailing a fine spray of droplets that glitter in the sun. Goddamn showoffs.

So tell me...what's the worst job YOU'VE ever had?

Hobos in the News

"This is the story of the Naked Hobo, made even more interesting because no one was naked and the person in question was not a hobo."
This is my kind of story. And yes, in case you're wondering, Gasoline Hobo will get naked at parties for a pretzel and a can of aquanet.

"A homeless man from Ireland desperate to escape the summer heat sparked a police chase after he stole a refrigerated truck containing ice cream in the western German city of Koblenz."
Irish hobos are hardcore. One of them once stole Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands. She was returned 3 weeks later with a new tattoo, shingles, and the Prince of Orange. Apparently the hobo was able to steal 8 months of gestation from her. Now THAT is a hobo.

Anal Retentive Minutiae

You know you're maybe getting a bit too much into the nooks and crannies of photography when you are annoyed by the overexposure of a tv show's opening credits montage.

That is all.

Except for a STERN demand that you visit both rekabek.com AND the 'Coon Cam, and excellent resource for all of your raccoon watching needs.

Ok, Seriously, Enough with the Boogers Already

I work in a professional environment. The place is rife with khakis, fake plants, and a fuckload of binders. Our hiring standards are very high. It usually takes close to two months to complete the hiring process, and then we fingerprint you.

Some people are not using those fingers wisely. Namely, they are abusing the walls of the bathroom stalls. Observe:

Please note that a roll of toilet paper is literally 6 inches away. I simply do not understand.

Here's something else I don't understand:

Marshmallow Mysteries

There I was, in the supermarket. Innocent, carefree, and, dare I say, unaware. I may even have been whistling. I picked up bread, cheese, pasta, crackers. I rounded the corner into the cereal aisle. My cart squeaked and wobbled over the linoleum a like weeble being attacked by a bat. Then I saw Johnny Depp. On a cereal box. Dressed as a pirate.

See? There he is. I wasn't very clear on what "pirate-shaped marshmallows" were, though. I opened the box, and I'm still not sure.

Exhibit A:

This appears to be a yellow hexagon with a white center. Now, my pirate knowledge is not nearly as extensive as my ninja know-how, but I am fairly certain that pirates didn't really care for hexagons. I'm pretty sure that they hated them, in fact. It's a well known fact that during Pirate Times the mere sight of a hexagon would drive a pirate into a frothy rage.

That's my theory, anyway. Maybe it was some sort of geometrically correct pirate twinkie. Thoughts?

Exhibit B:

Another puzzler, but perhaps easier to identify than the previous example. This appears to be a purple thing with a white thing in the middle. Maybe it's a bird. Maybe it's a plane. It could also be an X. You know, to mark the spot. Ah! Perhaps. But why would pirates use purple treasure maps? Was it too difficult to make a parchment colored marshmallow? I don't think you're working hard enough, Kellogg.

Exhibit C:

I have no clue as to what this could be. A mushroom? Not very piratey. A parsnip with a purple knitted cap? I'm pretty sure a pirate would laugh at a parsnip. Especially if it was shaped like a "thingy". Other than that, I'm drawing a blank. What "pirate shape" could this be?

Exhibit D:

I'm pretty sure a pirate wouldn't be caught dead in a New Beetle. Not even if it was black and had cannons poking out the windows. Is it a hat?

Exhibit E:

This is perhaps the most confusing of the bunch. I'm totally at a loss here. It's teal and it's yellow. I want to say that it's a parrot, but the shape is all wrong. Maybe it's an attempt at a hook apparatus? For the fancy and fashionable pirate? It looks like a Miami Vice Epilady, and I know that's not right...

Help me out here, people. I don't need to be more confused than I already am.

p.s.: i think that "Marshmallow Designer" would be just about the coolest job EVER.

Gasoline Oboe

(sorry)

Wherein Michael Jackson Eats a Banjo, I Accidentally Swallow a Spoon, and a Raccoon Sneaks into the Post

I'm sitting here in my office, writing like a fiend with Thriller, Billie Jean, Chromeo, Hylozoists and some random Bjork songs on repeat. It's hot outside, but cool inside. I had a chimichanga for lunch, I have a full tank of gas, I'm writing better than I have in my life, and I got my Girl back. There's a cool fire in my veins, and it's giving me goosebumps.

You ever feel like that? I'm bursting with ideas today. Feels like my entire electrical field has been jacked up a notch, and I'm vibrating just a little. Juiced.

I've got a story about shadows on tap. I'm cranking through a revised outline for my book. I had an idea at lunch for a new story using a world/setting I came up with a few years ago. I think I sat there for about 5 minutes with my fork halfway to my mouth, while my brain raced down new tracks and curves in my imagination. It's times like this that creativity feels like a separate entity, a force of nature rather than a fickle hammer that works through blunt force trauma.

In other news, I feel rather strongly that I need a theme song for my blog. Something with a banjo. Something that Corkscrew Justin Biscuit Thrower and I can use for busking purposes. Something that still sounds good with a rhythm section composed entirely of hawking and throat clearing. Any takers?

Here are some tunes for you. Anyone ever listen to these things when I post 'em?

The Hylozoists - Strait is the Gate [MP3]
Jeff Beck + Imogen Heap - Rolling and Tumbling [MP3]
William Shatner - Common People [MP3]

RIP, Syd Barrett

Yeah, he was batshit loco, but Piper at The Gates of Dawn was fantastic, and without him, we'd never have had Dark Side of the Moon or The Wall. And that would have been a tragedy for stoners everywhere. He died today at age 60.

In other news, I've been feeling a bit nostalgic lately about video games. My first computer was the TI-994A. I had the Voice Synthesizer. I had the tape drive. I Hunted The Wumpus. I also managed to get so excited playing Pole Position that I folded myself up in a folding chair. Good times, good times.

Here's a commercial for Pole Position that just might beat the Thieving Beard Skittles commercial. The opening line is PERFECT, and the theme song is, dare I say, BOSS.

Salad Days

A friend of mine recently accused me of "tossing a narwhal's salad". Think about that for a moment. Even the logistics are amusing.

Anyway, here are some more photos, and a little Johnny Cash for you: